


Holiday Blues

by Noceu



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Implied Jon/Elias, M/M, Monster Martin, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 11:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15024056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noceu/pseuds/Noceu
Summary: The Unknowning has been stopped, sacrifices have been made and monsters born. Martin is one of them. He's also overdue a very,very longholiday.





	Holiday Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NeverwinterThistle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/gifts).



> For NeverwinterThistle for kindling my love of this ship.
> 
> As of S3, Martin has gone through so much shit I honestly just want to give him all the good things ever. This was inspired by the thought of, after everything is said and done, he gets to have the holiday of his dreams, somewhere far away without anyone to bother him <3 (or does he?!)

Martin couldn't remember the last time he'd had a few days off for himself. 

Aside from the weeks spent huddling in his bedroom and fearing for his life at the hands -  or worms, actually - of the Flesh hive, he  _ really _ hadn't had a proper holiday in years. Well, back then he hadn't minded it too much. He'd been far too busy trying to save everyone else that he'd barely had time to look at what was happening to him. 

And then they'd saved the world from a troupe of murderous fake people.

Honestly, Martin was glad he hadn't wound up too worse for wear. He could deal with being a minor monstrosity if it meant the others were saved his fate, or worse. Jon had almost died, Elias had sort of died and Tim had saved Melanie from dying. Thankfully Daisy and Basira had been fine, but it was just too much death to deal with. 

He  _ needed _ this holiday. 

With a soft woollen hat (knitted by one of Elias’ acquaintances, of all people!) covering most of his forehead and keeping his rather unsightly third eye hidden, Martin strode throughout the airport with a sigh of happiness. It was far too hot for the hat, but his hair wasn't long enough yet to cover the extra eye and he wasn't about to open the can of metaphorical worms that was trying to explain to people what he was or why his passport photo looked perfectly normal. 

Nope. No way. 

Aside from the nagging worry, the incredibly sweaty scalp and the urge to blink away threads of wool from his eye , Martin was happy -  properly happy - for the first time in months...years, maybe? 

He'd chosen to take his holiday in the most remote corner of the planet he could afford, away from wax people, mad circuses, mind readers and other assorted supernatural entities. Away from anything and anyone that could potentially turn his holiday into, as Tim had put it, “a bad time, tee em”. It hadn't been easy to find a place enjoyable, affordable  _ and _ untouched by the entities, but he'd finally settled on a tiny island in the Pacific, and he was glad for that choice. 

From the plane window, he'd been able to tell that the island wasn't just beautiful, it was straight out of a travel agency brochure, mind blowingly  _ perfect _ . But it wasn't until he got a local taxi driver to the take him to the flat he'd rented by the ocean that he was finally able to take in the view in all its glory. And it was glorious. Wide empty skies of the brightest blue reflected on water so still and calm Martin wondered if anyone had ever fallen  _ through _ it. 

His apartment was located in one of the few  _ actual _ buildings on the island, the ones that rose higher than a squat first floor and couldn’t be mistaken for a cottage or bungalow. A tangle of brightly coloured vines crept up one of its walls, curling against one of the balconies in a way that reminded Martin of a snake, flower-irises staring into that endless horizon. It was rustic and peaceful, and more than he’d hoped. From his vantage point at the doorway, he saw that thin strip of creamy-white sand swell with the tide. Green-bottle-blue waves rising and washing over the permanently wet sand before retreating. It was hypnotising in a way that had nothing to do with supernatural entities or mind-control, and he didn’t realise he’d been staring for a good couple minutes until someone shouted at him in a language he barely understood.

“I… am okay? Sorry I have no idea what you’re trying to say,” he muttered quietly, aware that there was a hot flush creeping up his face. He could practically see Jon in his mind’s eye (or was that his third eye now?) shaking his head at him and he swiftly turned away from the image and escaped into the building.

On one hand, it was definitely cooler inside and he was  _ finally _ able to take the hat off and blink away at the dandruff in his eye, on the other… there were at least three, no, four rows of steep stairs, and not a lift in sight. 

“Well, hello there holiday, I guess.”

 

\--

 

The smell wasn’t noticeable, not at first. 

Martin couldn’t remember much before drowsiness, jet-lag and the king-sized bed had claimed him, but he was absolutely sure that before his nap, the apartment hadn’t smelled like a thundercloud was currently residing in the living room. He was alone, the door was locked and as far as he could tell, the hob wasn’t leaking gas. Outside, the sun had started on its downward journey and cast a pink hue across the skyline. The droning weather forecast didn’t predict any rain within the next couple  _ months _ and Martin had no idea what to do.

He gave it…maybe five minutes, pacing across a spotless hallway, photos of people he didn’t know hanging on the walls, smiles too passive to be reassuring. His travel agent had sold him on the lived-in apartment rather than a sterile hotel room, and really, Martin liked it, it felt  _ good _ , only instead of being able to call the reception he had to deal with this problem  _ himself _ . 

He was really, really not looking forward to trying to have a whole conversation with the local service providers. He was lightheaded, dizzy, slightly annoyed and the more he tried to escape the smell, the more it seemed to be coming directly from within his apartment, or at the very least, his floor. Four windows thrown wide open and he struggled to breathe with every step he took. His eyes watered and he barely managed to escape a coughing fit by stumbling onto the balcony.

It was significantly better out there. Though hot and stifling, the salty breeze caressed Martin’s face, ruffled his hair and provided a good enough distraction from his predicament. It was quiet, quieter than he’d expected. The sound of sea-birds cawing in the distance peppered the near-silent rustling of leaves, and somewhere further away, a roll of music, felt more than heard. And under it all, that pervasive smell, luring rather than suffocating. 

Martin wasn’t particularly tempted by it. He wanted to sleep and cook in his apartment, and he wanted to not worry about dying in his sleep from a leaky pipe or being incinerated in an explosion; he wanted not to worry about the families living in the building, either. But he did worry, he couldn’t stop himself from worrying. Never had, probably never would. And death… well.

Why did it always come down to death? He’d flown across two oceans to escape the guilt of having nearly let his friends die again - to escape the thoughts and the dreams of being the one to destroy them - and here he was, half draped across the balcony in a beautiful tropical island, thinking about how ‘yup’ it was pretty much his fault and maybe, just maybe, if he died here, maybe then the world would be rid of another monster.

_ Oh come on _ ,  _ even you know the Beholding would never relinquish its claim so easily _ , he heard a voice in his head speak up, it sounded sadly like Elias.

“Fuck off, Elias,” he said, not quite a shout, but loud enough that the words thrummed in his ears. Okay, that felt good. He didn’t want to die. Not here. Not anytime soon. But he wasn’t about to let the Eye make him feel like shit in his  _ own holiday _ .

Right. He needed  _ a plan _ .

 

\---

 

It was unbelievable. 

The moment he stepped out of the door, that terrible cloying smell assaulted him head-on. Like it hadn’t been bad enough inside his apartment, it had to one up itself and become at least fifty times worse out in the corridor. 

Martin swayed forward leaning against a delicately tiled wall, his three eyes snapping shut as a wave of vertigo washed over him. It was worse in the darkness and he fell, fell and fell until something grasped him and then he…floated, completely weightless. It was pleasant. Even nice, and when he touched the ground, it was as if nothing had happened. 

A cold shiver jolted up Martin’s back, like electricity and infinitely sharper. That smell, ozone, right? It didn’t come from a pipe and it wasn’t gas and somehow, Tim had been wrong because even out here in the middle of fuck-knows-where, it hadn’t been  _ far enough _ . 

Maybe he hadn’t been the only one trying to escape.

The door to the apartment next to his was propped slightly open, an inch, at best. From within, he saw a shape that may or may not be human. Martin swallowed down the urge to run and realized that if he was wrong, this might just be another native whom he needed to warn about the potential danger in the building. He tried his best to sound confident. His tongue was dry and his chest was tight, and he definitely did not feel even slightly ready to do it

“Uh, hello,” he said, “Um, I-I’m sorry to bother you but I just wanted to ask if you can smell this because if there’s something wrong with the building we should probably call the landlord,” Martin knew he was rambling, staring at that sliver of a gap between the door and the wall. It wasn’t until it opened wider that he gasped, automatically stepping back. “Christ, I didn’t-- I-- You can understand me right? I really hope I’m not talking and you can’t understand me, oh god.”

“I can understand you just fine.”

Light flooded the corridor, spilling past a remarkably human silhouette. Martin took another clumsy step backwards and blinked several times, until his eyes adjusted to the sudden, harsh brightness. If he felt self-conscious, it was only because a man stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped over his hips, dripping wet and soaking the carpet under his feet. From somewhere inside the apartment, Martin realized he could hear the sound of water running.

“Oh, I’m-- I’m so sorry, I didn’t know…” he stammered, aware that his hands shook silently against his crumpled hawaiian shirt, “the smell, I thought if there was anyone here, I’d warn them that there might be something wrong. “

“I know. I can’t turn it off,” the stranger replied. His face wasn’t particularly striking, bland if bland also meant nice; handsome in a sort of placid way. But his eyes… pale and deep - nothing like the ocean around them - they bore holes into Martin. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“I  _ can’t  _ turn it off,” the stranger repeated like it was meant to make all the sense in the world. Like anyone would realize that this was a monster, not a man. Like he hadn’t travelled halfway across the world to escape them.

Martin’s forehead itched like nothing before and he almost reached to remove that stupid hat. Almost. “Well, I… paid for the apartment and I’d, uh, if it's okay, I’d like to be able to use it,” he said when the fear turned to resentment and a little anger. (How dare this monster ruin his holiday?)

The man was utterly still and after a painstakingly long minute Martin wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake. He was about to break the silence, to apologize, to do anything but stand there and question his immediate life choices, when the man lifted one hand to silence him, fingers outstretched in his direction. The faint scars curling over his forearm, twining up the elbow and the top of his shoulder were stark, white and raised against his shower-flushed skin. 

Immediately, a connection surged in Martin’s mind. He’d heard of this man  _ somewhere _ and it bothered him he couldn’t immediately place it. He couldn’t remember who he was, or what his name might be. He didn't even know what time it was back home, or he might have been tempted to call Jon even if that meant having to deal with Elias’ smugness at there being ‘nowhere for him to hide’. Maybe the realization should’ve come as a shock, that Elias had Known about this stranger before his arrival at the island. It really didn’t.

Besides, he didn't have very long to think about it it, either. 

It wasn’t quick, nor sharp. Like snow melting under a gentle Spring sun, the dizzying smell withdrew slowly, and after a little while Martin could only really tell it was there when he focused. He felt his whole body relax at the realization, unwinding tension he hadn't realised was coiled in his muscles. 

“Thank you,” he breathed a sigh of relief masking a desperate, breathless gasp. “Thank you.”

It was both genuinely surprising and heartwarming that the man had heeded his plea and tingles ran through Martin's body as his fear turned into… well, into something else. 

“Don't be. I'm not doing it for you,” the man replied, offering no explanation other than turning his back to Martin and walking into the apartment behind him, pulling the doorknob with him when he moved.

There was no apology, no nothing. It was thoroughly impolite and Martin was taken aback just enough to notice that across the skin visible on the man’s spine, the Lichtenberg scar had been partially tattooed over, creating a bizarre contrast between colour and its void.

The door had almost slid shut all the way when the words fell from Martin's mouth, rushed and altogether a bit silly . “I'm Martin, by the way. I mean, that’s my name.”

“Mike.” 

Martin hadn’t expected an answer and he practically jumped when a disembodied voice blew in his ear, like a gust of wind.

“Oh, well, nice to meet you, Mike.”

 

\--

 

“Hello there,” Martin said, a smile on his lips.

Large reptilian eyes gazed at him from a flat rock, barely a meter from the gravel path he’d been following for the past five minutes. Lazily, the thing moved, sliding down to the ground, its claws scraping over layers of foliage as it padded towards him. 

“Woah, I really hope you’re not… going to eat me or anything,” he laughed, lines creasing across his cheeks and forehead. God, he was tired. “I can’t promise I’ll taste very nice Mr. Lizard.” 

It was silly to get closer, this thing had a head the size of his fist and, Martin reckoned, was probably capable of taking a big chomp out of him if it wanted. The logical thing to do was definitely not crouching on his haunches and tentatively reaching to stroke its head. But then, the reptile blinked and pushed its scaly skin against his fingers and, well, he knew intelligence when he saw it.

Smile widening, he scritched under its chin. “Right, I guess you’re not going to eat me. You like this, yes?” 

It must’ve liked Martin so well that it wound up following him all the way to the beach, trotting by his side and pausing every time he did so. It was quiet and unobtrusive. Martin barely noticed its presence whenever he stopped to photograph one or another of the island’s natural wonders. It wasn’t until they neared the ocean and he felt the burning stare of people around him that he realized it was still with him. Although that might’ve been the woollen hat on his head marking him as the biggest weirdo in the whole island.

Whatever it was, it didn’t bother Martin as much as it should’ve. It wasn’t like he hadn’t helped saved the world; like he hadn’t suffered greatly for it. If the rest of the world thought him insane then that was fine by him. Kinda.

Well, at least he had a friend here, even if that friend took the form of a rather large lizard.

“Honestly, people don’t usually like me that much at first, big guy,” Martin spoke as he walked towards an empty stretch of beachside.  “I mean, it’s… lonely, you know? I tried to help and all it’s done is make everything worse. If I hadn’t been there, maybe Jon wouldn’t have almost died. He did it to protect me, can you believe that? Of course not… And then, the whole monster thing. You don’t mind, right? I mean, I’m talking to an animal, I don’t think you mind it much that I’m a monster. And if you do, well, I’m sorry, you found the wrong guy to follow around.” 

Martin didn’t even know what he’d needed until he got it: he kept talking, babbling his heart out to a reptile, catharsis in its most ridiculous form. His throat tightened and he felt the hint of tears stinging against the corner of his eyes, burning a line down his cheeks. And then the lizard nudged closer to him, headbutting his calves and nearly tripping him over, he gasped out a sharp cry, shaking his head.

“Fair enough, hard not to… dwell on it. ” When he reached down, his hands smoothed over the length of the lizard’s back, petting the little spikes that covered its spine. Little droplets followed the path of his fingers. “I-I'm sorry I shouldn't be crying… I mean, I guess I should? It’s been a while. Tim actually invited me to one of his therapy sessions. But it didn't feel right, besides, I'm the… The one who changed.” ‘ _ Like crying about it will do any good, _ ’ was the thought that followed like acid in his mind. 

“Here it doesn't matter anymore and there's no one around,” Martins voice was strained and he buried his feet in too-hot sand before pulling the hat off his head. It was finely knitted from wool soft enough that it didn't bother his third eye  _ too much _ , but wearing it still meant hiding what he was; that he had become the one thing he feared. 

Stained glass green pupil and a better colour acuity and depth perception than anyone else he knew, that was all it meant. Absolutely everything. No one listened to that, though. He was a supernatural being. He was _ more _ . 

He  _ was _ a monster. 

“It's easy to forget when I can't feel it.” He patted his lap and watched when the lizard cocked its head at him, dark irises turning to slits in the light. “Oh come on, don't you want to be petted some more?”

Martin sighed when it didn't move. “I should give you a name. Jon would probably  _ peel _ me for this but I like you and… and I think you like me, so, you need a name. Besides, I want you to stick around and when I find out what you eat, I can get you treats too.” 

The latter was hardly worthy of an investigation and within a few minutes of trying to connect to Google, Martin had determined the lizard was a male mature green iguana, and an incredibly friendly specimen at that. Although it didn't curl on his lap, the iguana had stretched next to him, its tail snaking across his back, and the tip of it settled over his thigh. He was comfortable, a little too warm and... content? Hard to recognize an emotion he hadn’t felt in ages, it bubbled inside of him, the words trapped in his head rushing to flow out. Martin was happy to ramble on. 

“...and then, well, have you ever seen a person that’s not a person?” He didn't know how long he'd been speaking for. “I hadn’t either. It’s weird they can fool you before you know what you’re looking at.”

The iguana’s eyes were closed in what Martin hoped was blissful enjoyment of the way his nails ran back and forth over its skin. It certainly hadn't tried to bite him ‘ _ so I'm doing something right _ ’, or so he hoped. After all, it was still just an animal, with no way of knowing or caring for his pain. He knew this. He knew that anyone would see him pouring out his life’s story, his struggle, to a lizard and probably try to commit him to a mental hospital.

He didn't- couldn't care about it anymore. He wasn't even a person, since when did the same rules apply to him? The thought of being studied like a lab rat - locked away and prodded - ran through his mind and he shuddered. He’d like to believe his master would never allow that, but since when did he believe the Beholding’s lies?

“They are just like us, or maybe I'm just like them now. I mean, I’m not a wax figure, I don’t think I am, anyway. It's pretty confusing. Elias tried to talk to me but I guess I… I don't know, but I wasn't listening. And then I ran… I mean, came here, to hide from everyone I know.” He paused, the iguana’s skin was rough and reassuringly solid under his palm. “Yeah, sounds about right. Not that I did a great job of running.”

Around them, the beach was breathtaking: a stretch of pearly-white against a quiet sea, flanked by green streaked dunes and lush emerald trees, the sun a blazing dot in the middle of the sky. 

Martin watched that dot the whole afternoon, the iguana faithfully by his side, until pale yellow turned to raging orange and a sliver of pink in the distance. For a moment before vanishing entirely, at the brink of dusk, he thought he saw a figure in the centre of it, back-lit and black against a red horizon. It was gone in a blink of his eyes, though not before he caught the distinct impression it had been watching him back. 

 

\--

 

The next time he saw Mike, Martin was sat on the stairs in their building, a lettuce leaf hanging from his hand. As it turned out, the- his-- iguana’s stair-climbing skills were sorely lacking and he spent the better part of an hour trying to coax it up the last of the four flights leading to his apartment. 

They were almost there, a couple steps from the hallway when everything stilled. The iguana froze and so did the flickering, wall-mounted light. There was nothing inherently  _ wrong _ and it reminded him, rather ominously, of the calm before the storm. In his ribcage, Martin’s heart sped up. Under the scent of air fresheners and sea salt lurked that impossibly-cold hint of ozone he had tried to avoid for days. It… teased him with its effect, gradually more intense until...

Well, Martin didn’t realize he hadn’t been paying attention until Mike appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a scowl firm on his lips. 

Like a broken spell, the dizziness left him breathing hard, confused and very slightly aroused - albeit for reasons he could not begin to understand. He pushed them away for later, trying to grasp at reasons for why he really,  _ really _ shouldn’t think Mike looked good in the top that rode up his hips, and shorts that revealed exactly how far his scar extended.  Maybe later, when he wasn’t about to be murdered, turned to a frosticle or made to fall forever.

But then, his own death wasn’t what concerned Martin, at least not nearly as much as the iguana still perched on the stairs, mouth half-open in  a silent hiss directed at Mike. It had finally moved, turning its body to face him, its whip-like tail ready to lash out.

Martin’s breath was caught in his throat. “Ple-please don’t hurt Mr. Matcha,” he said. He didn’t realize he was whimpering until the words echoed down the staircase. “He’s just been following me and I like him and- just please, don’t hurt him.”

“You called it “Mr. Matcha”?” 

“Hm, yes? I...I like tea and I mean, it’s a green iguana. Matcha is green?” Martin answered too quickly, heat rushing to his face. He wanted to look away. “Mr. Matcha doesn’t seem to mind.”

“It’s a lizard,” Mike replied. The expression was a cross between incredulous and amused, both of which looked out of place in his otherwise emotionless face. “But I’m not going to hurt him...“ He paused, adjusting the weight of his beach towel over his shoulder, solid blue and wet at the ends. “Or you.” 

“Oh. That… is really nice to know,” Martin said. He knew he shouldn’t be trying to make small talk with Mike, he knew better than that, and he  _ so _ couldn’t help himself. “Are you here on holiday too? I mean, you sound like from back home so I guess you are?” 

Honestly, he hadn’t expected Mike to answer anymore than he expected him to keep his word and not end up a sky-kebab somewhere vast, and when he spoke, Martin exhaled softly. His lungs stung, pinpricks of pain where the cold burned him. If only he was able to resist Mike’s gravity he might not have felt like falling forward, toppling through the stairs and into the storm’s eye. 

“Something like that,” Mike told him. He started on the way up the stairs and stopped again when Mr. Matcha hissed, out loud, this time. “You should get your pet under control.”

“He’s not my pet,” Martin corrected. He stood, feeling a strange pit in his stomach that had everything to do with the situation at hand and nothing at all with vertigo. “And it’s not my fault you’re terrifying him. I… I’ll try to lure him inside if you don’t mind waiting a minute.”

Mike crossed his arms against his chest. His eyes were abnormally pale, ice-water under a light that insisted on dimming with every step he took. They were fixed on Martin’s face, pinning him to the spot like twin lightning bolts. 

“I-I... think I need something else, he doesn’t seem to like the lettuce too much.” Martin wiped clammy palms over his khaki shorts and shivers ran down the back of his neck. “Let me go,” he said, voice cracking at the edges.

Again, that strangely amused, or confused, or  _ perplexed  _ expression shifted on Mike’s face. “I’m not actually doing anything.” He licked the corner of his lips and shook his head. Martin hadn’t noticed it before, but his hair was wet, clinging in dark clumps to his forehead, wet lines running down his neck.

“Well, uh, if you’re not  _ doing anything,  _ then maybe you could… do something and help me out here?” Martin said, injecting some hope into his words. He hadn’t meant to cross Mike, but neither of them could stand indefinitely in the stairs because of Mr. Matcha, and he wasn’t about to give up on his new friend, either.

Besides, that… well, at least it got him a proper reaction, even if it was caused by some ruffled feathers. Through the building’s walls, Martin swore he heard a crack of thunder in the distance and the pitter-patter of sudden rain.

“Why?” Mike asked. His voice was so quiet that though he’d seen his lips move, it took Martin a second longer to realize only a single word had been said. 

_ Why? What does he mean ‘why’? It’s not exactly rocket science- oh.  _ Martin had neither the strength nor will to argue. Mr. Matcha tried to scramble up his legs and he winced when its sharp claws found his bare skin and dug in, scratching long lines up his shins. The lizard was clearly panicked and when he reached down to pick him up, it jumped gladly into Martin’s arms, its crest bobbing a dark red display of aggression in Mike’s direction. 

“I was going to ask… why not, but I guess that solves it,” Martin said. “Oof, he’s heavier than he looks.”

“I don’t usually deal with ‘why nots’.” Mike admitted. “It’d make my job a lot more difficult, I guess.”

Martin didn’t ask what Mike meant by ‘job’ or why it’d make it more difficult - he really didn’t want to have that conversation; hadn’t with Tim nor Jon and still didn’t now. Monsters did horrible things and there was nothing he could do about it. 

Nodding, he started to, very carefully, step backwards. Even now, he didn’t want to take his eyes off Mike, or turn his back on him. It was strange to be afraid of someone almost a head shorter than him, but Mr. Matcha’s reaction to him solidified his apprehension, if not outright fear. Martin cried out when his feet touched the last step and the iguana tried to leap out of his arms into the corridor. Balance lost, he had a moment, and a vision, of claws and scales and teeth, before a painfully cold hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him forward and keeping him from falling.

Mr. Matcha was gone, scurrying loudly towards the end of the corridor, his feet tapping on the floor as he disappeared between some shadows and an old pipe. It all happened too fast and before he had time to react, Martin watched the hat fall - comically slow - to the stairs and Mike’s face maybe a couple inches away from his, staring up into _ all  _ his eyes.

_ Oh. _

“I-I’m- oh god, I’m so sorry,” Martin said, stumbling over the words, gasping for breath. “I didn’t realize he was going to jump and you stopped me from falling! If it wasn’t for you I’d be a bloody pulp down there.” 

Mike looked reluctant to speak, his fingers curled over Martin’s shoulder, knuckles white and forceful, far stronger than Martin would have guessed. His hand held him in place on that last step and when his gaze didn’t falter, Martin tentatively looked back. Trying to read his face was an exercise in futility. His eyes, though… Martin blinked against pale gray, and then neither were in an old building in this small island. 

Empty space surrounded them, so deep and immeasurably  _ vast  _ it was difficult to encompass. It wasn’t the sky; it wasn’t  _ any _ colour Martin could discern. He thought stars whisked past him, winking brightly. Wherever he was, it was deeper- or maybe simply so much larger than anything at  _ all _ that it became impossible to tell where it begun or ended, or what it was. He remembered Jon telling him about the powers, what felt like a lifetime ago, and he wondered when he’d  _ fall _ , but when he fell, it was completely controlled, aware of when to spread his arms or dive down, aware he’d never crash and burn, or break. Because he  _ wasn’t _ Martin. He wasn’t even Michael Crew. He was the distance between here and infinity, and everything else in between.

He was the hand that held the sky and the ocean, time and space themselves bending to his chaotic will. When he closed in on the island, he saw a livewire standing at its centre, electricity and turbulent winds chained to a mild, unobtrusive face. Martin saw the range of its influence, the radius of its powers petering out into the sea. He was aware, without really knowing why, of how easy it would be to  _ shift  _ and send the storm away.

“Stop it,” Mike growled, yanking him back before he could  _ touch _ any of the white sparks in his vision. “Are you trying to get us both killed?” 

Martin didn’t know when they’d moved. Unyielding behind his back was the corridor wall, and against his chest, forcing him in place, was Mike, a scowl curling on his lips.

“No?”

“Did anyone send you here?” 

Outside, the storm grew louder; the scent of rain and fire rolled off Mike’s skin. When he blinked, Martin saw a human-shaped conduit imprinted in the black of his vision, slivers of white lightning streaking into nothing . 

“Uh, no I mean, I guess Tim helped a bit, apparently he’s got a lot of holiday experience, but no, I came here because I wanted to--”

“Run away,” Mike finished the sentence for him, his grip on Martin’s shoulder loosened and he took a step back.

Martin swallowed down hard. “I- I- You’re right,” he admitted quietly. Like a broken seal, a rush followed. “I needed to get away from everything that happened and everyone was being so… understanding! I didn’t mean to hurt you, though. I’m not really sure how I could? You were, so  _ bright. _ ”

Mike seemed to consider his words for a second. “I’m not the best to ask about that. Perhaps one of your people will be able to tell you, perhaps not.” 

“But you know what happened?” 

“I know… enough. Another moment or two and I imagine this island, and every life form in it would’ve ceased to be. Including us.” Mike said, calm enough, each word still and empty, that if he hadn’t been standing less than a foot away, Martin might’ve never noticed the way his jaw clenched and the way his eyes flickered to the end of the corridor, toward his apartment’s door.

“How can I have done that?” Martin’s voice sounded dumbstruck even to himself, a tangle of questions running through his mind. “I’m fairly sure I wouldn’t… try to kill myself.”

“Not knowingly,” Mike said. He’d started to withdraw already, picking his towel from where it had been left on the floor and throwing it around his neck. Through the fabric, however thick it was, shot a pale white glow, taking the shape of lightning. It wasn’t until the lights turned off and the automatic emergency lights cast a faint green hue around them that Martin realized Mike’s Lichtenberg scar was glowing. Literally glowing.

“You are…” 

_ ‘Charged’ _ was the word that came, unbidden, to his head. And just like that, he understood how rattled Mike was by what he’d  _ almost _ done. As much as...everything ever sucked, he didn’t want to disappear like that, or ever cause so much death and destruction. Besides, he had Mr. Matcha to think about now.

Mike looked down at himself. “Hm? Oh, this is nothing to be concerned about.”

Martin’s eyes drifted to the way the glowing scar snaked over Mike’s hip and inner thigh, perfectly visible through his shorts in the near-darkness. He swallowed down again, this time fighting the heat that rushed up his face.

“I’m… I’m just really sorry, I didn’t mean to… do anything, and you probably don’t believe me, because why would you? But I didn’t mean to hurt you, either,” he said. “Besides, I mean, we’ve both been hurt enough, right?

_ That _ stopped Mike in his tracks again. The lightning dimmed and a scent of freshly cut grass wafted past him. There was the strangest expression in his face and this time, Martin had no idea what it meant. He wanted to know, though, and that surprised him, although not nearly as much as when Mike spoke again.

“That is not something I’ve ever thought about. I’ve… not thought about many things, it seems,” Mike said. “Yes, I think.”

From somewhere distant and muffled, Mr. Matcha made a sound somewhere between a huff and a gurgle. The lights came back on and he saw the iguana’s body laid across the floor with its head hiding behind a pipe barely large enough to cover its crest. He shook his head and laughed, catching a glimpse of a frown on Mike’s face.

“Uh, I guess I should go.” Martin hesitated. “ After I get him settled… I don’t suppose you want some tea? I’ll keep the hat on and bring some of the nice cups I brought from back home? If that’s okay.”

Through it all, Martin still felt the ice-cold grip of Mike’s fingers on his shoulder, and the dizzying pull of his pale eyes. 

He wanted more.

“Yeah, sure,” Mike said.

Martin smiled.

 

\--

 

The bar was only a couple minutes walking from the beach, and Martin had taken the time to enjoy their happy hour, and the vast selection of delicious cocktails, before heading for a late evening dip. Far away, closer to the horizon than they were to the island, wisps of clouds drifted lazily, painted in dark gold and sunset red. Even further away, far, far up, he saw a sliver of a moon, hanging in the sky.

Although he wasn’t sure whether that was the booze or the fact this particular stretch of beach was empty, there was something oddly freeing in being able to wobble drunkenly towards the ocean before falling to his knees. In being able to sink his feet in the wet sand and wiggle the little grains between his toes. In laughing...

Because when a spray of water hit him across the chest, Martin laughed so hard and for so long that a minute later he’d fallen sideways, gasping breathlessly.  _ Like a fish,  _ he thought, and laughed again. Maybe he should’ve bothered with proper clothes besides his horrible Hawaiian print shorts, hat and sandals, but he hadn’t and it didn’t matter anyway. It was too hot for a shirt and the breeze carried with it the promise of a warm night.

A night spent drunk, alone, enjoying the beautiful scenery in a beautiful tropical island. Yeah, he could do this.

Once he’d managed to sit back up, Martin plucked the hat off his head and let it fall somewhere on the dry sand behind him. Nothing but curly strands of hair dangled in front of his third eye and he sighed contentedly as he stared out into the ocean. 

Martin wasn’t sure how long he sat there watching the sun fully disappear, sinking lower and lower until it was gone, as if swallowed by the sea itself, and darkness took over. Ripples of colour he couldn’t identify sometimes crossed his vision, as if brilliant shooting stars, winking out as soon as he’d noticed them. Birds, perhaps, though he could hear no sound aside from the steady song of the sea. At some point, he fell backwards and lost himself to a brilliant curtain of stars, sprawled above his head.

He didn’t even realize he’d dozed off until he woke up with a shadow looming over him, blotting out the stars. 

“Martin?” the shadow spoke, and moved, stretching forward. It’s voice sounded familiar and not particularly threatening and after a couple seconds, it seemed to… kneel by him? 

It was difficult to tell one way or another as every time Martin tried to open his eyes, his vision blurred at the edges, shimmering gently in a way that  _ was _ definitely weird.  All he could tell for sure was that there was someone with him; that the tide had risen and soaked through his shorts and that the moment he tried to stand, a wave of nausea hit him, badly enough he had to shove one arm at the shadow before gagging. 

Martin was very, very thankful he didn’t puke. Especially when the blurry shadow man’s hand moved to brush hair off his forehead and he leaned onto those cold fingers gratefully.

“Sorry about that.” He croaked, wincing at the hot pain that exploded in his skull. “Unless you, uh, know someone else with three eyes, that’s me, yes.”

“I was out and saw you. I wasn’t sure you were… well.”

The hand didn’t pull away and after another moment of confusion and nausea, during which Martin forced one eye open to look at the man, recognition flitted through him. Oh.  _ Oh.  _

“Did I wake you up?” Mike asked. His voice was quiet and honestly, quite thoughtful, considering Martin’s headache.

It was still dark, though through the blurriness, Martin saw the softest hint of a sunrise in the making, beams of light stretching up in the direction of the treeline. He preemptively groaned at the thought of enduring sunlight in his state.

“You woke me, but I’m not really sure that’s a bad thing, I would’ve probably drowned otherwise,” Martin said. With his kind of luck, that was exactly what would’ve happened. Whether he would’ve died… that wasn’t a question he needed the answer to. “I drank, a bit too much, and that’s it for, uh, amazing confession of the day.”

“I don’t believe the tide rises much further.” Finally, Mike stepped back. “And you wouldn’t have died.”

“You don’t know that.” Martin forced himself to stand up. He immediately regretted the decision, but instead of buckling when the pain hit, his legs shook and he wobbled a couple steps forward. Just how much had he had to drink? 

“I do.”

“Fine, you do.” Martin huffed. “I mean… it’s not like it matters, right? You woke me up, my head hurts worse than Tim after the Christmas party. I- shit, I think I’m still drunk.”

It was impossible to tell what kind of expression lingered on Mike’s face, Martin just didn’t know him well enough for that. Not pity… concern, maybe? Their “tea dates” had been going well enough but that mostly Martin babbling about himself and finding new tea flavours to impress Mike with, really.

“I tried that once. It was a long time ago, I don’t remember it going well.” 

Martin really  _ really _ couldn't picture Mike drunk. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, either. “It’s not fun until you pass out on the beach,” he said instead. “I’ve got sand  _ everywhere _ . It’s really gross. Whoever came up with that drink- uh, ‘Sex on the Beach, they should be ashamed of themselves.”

“I can help,” Mike said, voice flat.

Martin stopped halfway through the process of trying to pat some sand off his chest without tripping himself. “I- I’m sorry, what?” 

“You mentioned being unwell and the sand.” For the first time, Mike seemed to hesitate. His breath hitched and his words hung in the space between them, frozen for just a moment. He stared up at the sky and then his eyes flickered back to Martin. “I think I can help with that.”

Martin didn’t know whether to believe or  _ trust _ Mike. The throbbing headache didn’t help and neither did the fact that all around them, dawn was quickly, and quietly invading the night.

“Um, okay. That would be… nice?”

Mike had one arm stretched forward, in Martin’s direction, beckoning him closer. He stood only a few feet away, close enough that Martin didn’t have to stop and think about what he was doing, before doing it.

It helped with the fear.

“Come in,” Mike said, reaching out to grip Martin’s wrist against his palm, the thrum of his pulse beneath his fingertips. “Close your eyes.”  _ ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’  _ but he didn’t say that. Didn’t need to.

The waves lapped at his skin, breaching lukewarm against his chest as they quickly stepped into deeper waters. Martin moved with Mike, as one. The back of his head touched Mike’s collarbone and he almost startled away, before an insistent hand tugged on his shoulder. “Stop fighting it.”

“Right… okay, I’m sorry,” he said.

“And don’t apologize either.” Mike sounded frustrated and guilt welled in Martin at the sound of his voice. It was closer now, lips brushing the arch of his ear. “It’s fine, relax. Remember, I’m only trying to help.”

Martin hadn’t even considered just how hard it was to relax until he was being forced to do so. His back arched underwater, he kicked upwards and waited for Mike’s arm to settle around his waist, holding him there, not quite supporting his weight anymore than the ocean itself did. In this position, Martin saw the sky, spanning endless, above them. 

“Close your eyes.”

After a heartbeat or two of indecision, Martin obeyed. Darkness flooded him, soothing his headache a little. And then...he was pulled sideways and down by an invisible current. Direction wasn’t easy to discern without light and only Mike’s grip kept him anchored as they continued to sink. It was nothing like what he’d seen inside Mike’s head, because there was  _ nothing _ to see. Not at first. Saltwater rose around him, covering his head, his mouth and nose, and for a very long second, Martin was sure this was one of the entities’ ploys and that  _ yup _ , he was totally going to drown, or worse, explode under the pressure of infinite oceans. There was no pain, only that endless dark, and a tight knot in Martin’s throat.

“I can’t help you if you keep fighting it.”

When he heard Mike’s voice echo around him, Martin had to pause to consider the fact he  _ hadn’t  _ drowned. He hadn’t even felt that desperate tickle for oxygen that preceded an attempt to breathe.

Martin didn’t trust himself to inhale or speak, even if he might’ve been able to do either without dying. He shook his head and his ears popped, every sound distorted by the weight of tons of water. 

Just how deep were they?

“You can open your eyes now, if it’ll help. It’s hard to see but the water won’t hurt you,” Mike said.

Wherever they were, barely any light made it down so far. Pinpricks of dark grey shifted in the direction Martin thought was up, but they were so far away it was hard to tell for sure. All around him, shapes coalesced, shimmering with their own luminescence. Creatures Martin hadn’t even known existed swam past them, some enormous and magnificent, others small, darting in and out of the darkness. 

Glowing jellyfish descended towards the bottom of the ocean, trailing several meters long tentacles behind their fanned bells. A shoal of strangely flat, thin fish engulfed them in a flurry of silver fins and white eyes, before disappearing away again. When a massive shape cried out in their direction, its mouth opening to reveal, not teeth but strands of what looked like whiskers, Martin realized what he was looking at.

“It’s a… it’s actually a whale.” He couldn’t stop himself from laughing. It didn’t feel like drowning at all. Bubbles clung to his skin before bursting. “It’s beautiful.”

The whale swam close enough that its eye met Martin’s and he was struck by the thought that it was just as curious about him. He tried to reach for it, his fingers almost brushing its barnacle encrusted skin, but Mike held him back by the shoulders.

“You don’t want to let go here,” was all Mike said. 

Martin wasn’t sure he agreed. The darkness should’ve scared him and when it didn’t… that was more terrifying than the ocean could ever be. Inky-black shadows stretched in every direction and without a sense of direction, Martin could’ve drifted in them forever. It was peaceful, interspersed with beings so alien and wonderful he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of them.

“If I did, what would happen?” 

Mike shrugged. “You’d be lost here, until… something wanted you to return. I don’t think your Beholding would be so keen on that.”

“You know, that doesn’t sound so bad,” Martin said, tasting bitter on his tongue. 

“It would still find you.” With a sigh, Mike pulled on his hand, turning until they faced each other. “You can run, I did, for a while, but it would still find you, in the end. Even here.”

One of Mike’s hands touched the back of his neck, but the other was wrapped over Martin’s palm. He swallowed down nervously. They were so close Martin thought he saw the abyss reflected in Mike’s eyes and it wasn’t until that moment that he realized their fingers were latched together, holding tightly. Martin had no idea what it meant or when it’d happened. 

“I- I’m not trying to hide. You brought me here, remember? I just, I like it. It’s lovely,” he said. “And you were right, it’s helping.” He had no idea when his headache had vanished either.

“I’m glad,” Mike said.

Martin couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Mostly, he just didn’t want to. “Thank you, for showing me this.”

As he spoke, a group of squids moved past them, larger than any Martin had ever seen before. Their long tentacles danced in and out of view, their bodies vaguely illuminated by some sort of internal blue light. It dawned suddenly that Mike was the sole reason he was here. The reason he had seen all these amazing sights.

Martin kissed him. 

Being underwater was strange enough that when Mike kissed him back, Martin gasped. Only there was no oxygen through which to produce a sound and he almost knocked their teeth together. It was ridiculous, it shouldn’t have been possible to  _ be alive _ at such depths, yet here they were, kissing and after a moment, laughing too.

“Hold on,” Mike said once Martin had recovered his ‘breath’, his nose resting against Martin’s cheekbone. 

“Are you taking us back?” 

“In a moment, it might be easier if you close your eyes again,” Mike said.

Resting his head in the crook of Mike’s neck, Martin waited. Coming up wasn’t nearly as obvious as sinking had been, and Martin only noticed they were actually moving when shafts of sunlight burst through the gloom, visible even with his eyes closed. Martin didn’t know how long they’d spent at the bottom of the ocean, only that the sun had fully risen in their absence. 

He expected saltwater to pour from his mouth and deflate his lungs, but nothing happened. It was as if it hadn’t been there in the first place. And then, the wind picked up and instead of hot sand under his toes, Martin felt… nothing firm.

“Mike, uh, are we flying?” Martin asked.

“A little,” Mike said. “You can open your eyes now, if you want.”

Martin blinked. Flying wasn’t really the right word for it. He didn’t fall; there was no pit in his stomach. They weren’t  _ nowhere _ and the ground was close enough that through the lush green canopies he could just make out their building, as well as several other locations on the island. It was terrifying, and exhilarating. 

Tucking his arms against Mike’s chest, he exhaled shakily. “Mike, I- I’m not sure you’re going to like this but I just, uh, realized I left my hat on the beach.” 

Mike squeezed him a little tighter. 

“I‘ll get it for you later.”

 

\--

 

“Come back with me,” Martin mumbled against the back of Mike’s neck.

The bed was large and the mattress dipped comfortably under the weight of their bodies. Their limbs were tangled together, both of Martin’s arms wrapped over Mike’s chest. The tips of his fingers traced idle figures in Mike’s skin, following the twisting arches of his scar. He would’ve never guessed it was so sensitive, not until earlier that afternoon, when Mike had shuddered and moaned under his touch.

“You think your friends would understand?” Mike said, his dark hair tickling Martin’s nose.

“I think... they have nothing to understand,” Martin said. “But yeah, I think they would. Tim won’t care, I mean Danny- his brother… he’s… anyway, it doesn’t matter, they’re fine now. And Melanie is probably going to be happy for us, so I… think they would understand. Well, maybe not Jon, not at first, but he… I’m fairly sure there’s something going on between him and Elias so it’d be pretty hypocritical of him not to. I heard them, once. You know? It was awful.” He grunted, eyes sliding shut as he buried his face against too-cold, stormy skin. 

“I can imagine.” 

Martin was vaguely aware of the way Mike’s hands clung to his arms, not letting go. His body was curled against Martin’s chest, small enough that they slotted together perfectly. Above them danced a reflection of the sunset, streaming in through the only window in the room.

“You can?”

“No, not really, that was automatic. It’s been a while since I’ve thought about… anything like that. It’s difficult to imagine,” Mike admitted, quieter than before.

“It’s okay… I think I get it, it’s like a muscle you haven’t stretched in so long you kinda forgot what to do with it, right? I was getting like that, at the end. Necessity, I think. If I hadn’t, then I’m not sure I’d be here today. Oh god, that sounded a lot more depressing than I meant it to be!” 

Martin didn’t expect Mike to wriggle from his grasp, or to turn and face him. When he did, Martin leaned forward to kiss him. 

“What I meant is that, it- it can change. If you want.”  _ Please, please, _ he thought. “Or at least, flex that muscle and maybe something will happen. Maybe not. I’m not an expert on this.” Martin laughed softly. “I’m probably as far from an expert as possible. I don’t even understand what I do!” 

“Influence  _ them.”  _

“Hm?”

This time, Mike initiated the kiss, dragging his lips across Martin’s, across the curve of his cheek, down his jaw, nibbling a soft mark in the hollow of his throat. Although his skin was cold, his mouth was hot and Martin relaxed, reaching down to stroke Mike’s abdomen softly.

“Are you trying to distract me? Because if yes, that’s… a really good way of distracting me.” 

He was only half hard, still too sensitive from their previous round, and when Mike scooted down the bed, peppering kisses over his chest and belly, Martin thought about rolling away. When Mike palmed the inside of his thighs, gently nudging his legs open, Martin hissed at the contrasting temperatures; icy fingers against the fire coiling in him. It was just about as much as he could bear.

“Jesus,  _ Mike.” _

Mike’s tongue on his cock was another degree of heat. He hadn’t been prepared for it and his muscles clenched at the sharp sensation, both his hands flying to grip the sheets as he forced himself to remain still. Martin knew Mike was teasing him with little laps against the underside of his cock, but he didn’t try to rush things either. This was a learning process, for both of them. 

He writhed, his eyes snapping open when Mike’s lips finally slid up and he licked a wet stripe across the head of Martin’s cock before sucking on it. Mike’s nose was buried in soft ginger curls, but their eyes met and Martin gasped at the sudden rush of speed accompanying the too-sharp, too-intense pleasure that jolted up his spine.

Taking back control of the situation -- at least, some -- Martin reached to tug on Mike’s hair, guiding him to sit up. “C’mere, I… uh, let me do this, okay? Or at least, try. Just, uh, relax.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Mike was panting gently, his too-pale eyes unfocused and bright in the dying light.

Martin’s throat was too dry. He’d noticed just how easy it was to get Mike to accept his suggestions. Not that he had any sort of supernatural power to do so, just that he was not quite easy-going as uncaring, about everything… and everyone. Still, there was a knot in his stomach and he needed to make sure he did this right.

They were both slick and spent, and it didn’t take too much coaxing to get Mike to crawl over him, although if Martin had to guess, he wouldn’t have believed it was his first time riding a man. 

“ _ Fuck _ .”

Martin stopped mid-thrust, the word so jarring coming from the Mike he’d grown to know that it genuinely surprised him. With one hand, he traced a broad streak of lightning across Mike’s pec, with the other, he reached down to gently caress his cock.

“You okay? I… I’m not hurting you am I?” 

“What?” Mike’s mouth hung half open and he panted softly. “No, no. You’re not hurting me, Martin.”

“Oh, uh, that’s good… that’s… really really good.”

Mike sunk down all the way, back arching, and the entirety of the Lichtenberg scar was illuminated by a twin bolt, its tendrils stretching across the dark skyline. Thunder rumbled in the distance. From the corner of his eyes, Martin saw a web of lightning spanning towards an invisible horizon.

Focusing was… difficult, his vision peppered with little dots that might’ve been stars. He was too raw from earlier and despite his cool skin, Mike’s body verged on too hot, absurdly tight and so small that all Martin wanted was to wrap his arms around him and never let go.

The strangely possessive thought gave him pause and it was only a second later, when Mike’s legs squeezed his hips that he snapped out of it.

“Martin…  _ don’t stop. _ ”

“Sorry, I-”

Mike cut him off with an insistent wiggle of his ass. “ _ Don’t stop. _ ”

Muscles burning with effort to match each of Mike’s movements, Martin tried to pour what he felt into gestures, not words. His palm curled round the length of Mike’s cock and he stroked him, up and down, in time with whatever sense of rhythm he could muster.

Neither lasted long. It was sweet and sloppy and when Mike collapsed against his chest, completely spent, Martin made no attempt to move. 

They stayed like that for a very long time, with Mike’s limbs draped limp over Martin and the only sound that of their combined breathing. Outside, the storm clouds dissipated slowly, giving way to a calm night and a breeze that smelled of tropical flowers and ice. 

At some point, Mike rolled off him, curling on a crumpled pile of bed sheets on the edge of the mattress. Considerably damper, more sweaty and smellier than before, Martin still didn’t hesitate to cuddle up to him, his hands smoothing over Mike’s skin like he might just forget what Mike felt like if he stopped touching him. 

“I feel like every part of my body is going to feel like death tomorrow but uh, we really should get a shower. Or... maybe we can go down to the beach, if you want?” 

When Mike didn’t reply, Martin squeezed his forearm. “Hey, are you alright? I know you’re usually quiet but uh, is everything okay? Was it … something I did?” 

“I was thinking, I told you I don’t do much of that these days, thinking,” Mike replied, reaching to grab Martin’s hand. “At least I didn’t, before you arrived here. To answer you, yes, it was something you did, although not in the sense you imagine.”

There was no way to stop his whole body from tensing with panicked half-wisps of thoughts. Martin was aware he’d gasped and that his heart was a hammer, or some sort of insect, trapped in his ribcage, fluttering desperately, all sharp and wobbly, buzzing so, so loud in his ears. And then, Mike’s fingers moved, sliding into the space between his own and he exhaled sharply, anxiety simmering in his belly.

Mike continued. “After meeting with your Archivist… I ran, I didn’t have much of a choice at that moment. You have to understand, running is as easy as falling. When you found me, I think I was going to run again. It’s easy, to just go and let the sky take me away.”

“Mike, you don’t have to…”

“You’re not _ compelling _ me, if that’s something you’re worried about. I’m telling you this because I want you to know that I could’ve just... gone.” Mike hesitated. 

His grip tightened around Martin’s hand and he tipped his head back, the back of it resting on Martin’s shoulder. There was something oddly soothing about the motion and Martin exhaled softly, some of the tension ebbing away.

“At first I was afraid of hurting you, I almost did. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve done that and I’m not particularly keen on it, especially not here. I still don’t know why I didn’t run that day but I’m… emotions are difficult, I’m happy I didn’t. I think. I’m not sure how easy  _ going back  _ will be, but if I didn’t, I think I’d find myself missing  _ this _ .”

“I uh, I can’t promise everything is going to go perfectly or anything. I know I can’t really change what I am and… Okay, this is going to sound stupid and you’re going to kick me out of your bed but I-I- wanna try.” Martin’s voice squeaked. He knew exactly how pathetic he sounded, desperate and chock full of emotion. Half remembered conversations fleeted across his mind, laughs and screams and terror, and he ignored them, choosing instead to kiss Mike’s temple as a distraction.

“I never noticed it happening but I  _ stopped  _ somewhere along the way, and I don’t particularly like the thought of that. The sky and the sea don’t just  _ stop. _ ”

Martin read between the lines, he wasn’t an adept at Mike-speech yet, but he was learning. He hoped he was. “You’re afraid of what’s going to meet you there, once you go back.” It was as much a question as it was a statement. 

“Not afraid, wary,” Mike corrected. “There are many things I’ve done that I don’t regret doing, but they may pose a problem, when we return.”

_ ‘When we return’.  _ He curled tighter around Mike’s body.

“Well, I am  _ afraid _ !” With a sigh, Martin closed his eyes - all of them -- and honestly wished they weren’t having this conversation right after sex. “Everyone’s changed after we stopped that ritual, sure, but even then I’m not really like them anymore. They haven’t even been in contact! I know they’re giving me space but… I think they’re scared, of me. Not like outright scared but a bit scared. And that was before you told me I could  _ do something _ and don’t just have a random creepy extra eye.”

“Yes, you can Influence  _ them _ .”

“You said that before, and uh, look where that got us.” Martin chuckled. “If you’re gunning for a third round I- yeah, I don’t think I’m ready yet. Sorry. Maybe after a shower, and sleep?”  

At that, like a bolt through clear skies, Mike laughed. The sound was soft, slightly husky, dark at the edges and as amused as it was unprecedented. It sent delightful warm shivers running through him.

“I was trying to explain what you can do. Although I’m not sure I’m the best to do it,  _ knowing  _ isn’t my… line of work.”

“Uh, wait a second there,  I… I just never thought I’d hear you laugh.”  _ And I don’t know why it makes me so breathless. _

“Hm. I don’t think I’ve laughed in a long time, it’s hard to tell. Time doesn’t always make much sense when everything’s the  _ same _ .”

“Not anymore,” Martin said. It felt good to be able to tell things had changed; to be able to mark this as something else, something new.

“No,” Mike agreed. 

Martin couldn’t see his face, shrouded in shadows and facing away from him. Only the faintest glow pulsing from the scars on Mike’s skin illuminated the darkness, but he still was fairly sure they were both smiling. Perhaps for different reasons. Maybe not. Martin wasn’t sure he had the right to be, but he allowed himself a little bit of hope.

“So I can influence them?” he asked, after a while. 

“That’s what you did that day, when you looked at me. You saw the power that makes us what we are and… drew its attention, made it move, homed in on me.” Mike was so still Martin had thought him asleep already. His breath was even, voice tinged with the kind of exhaustion that promised a dreamless night. “It’s larger than even I can imagine, but it would’ve destroyed us both if it came so close.”

Martin hoped he’d never do that again.

“I’d say that makes sense but it uh, it really doesn’t.”

“No it doesn’t,” Mike said. 

“Maybe in the morning.” Stifling a yawn against the back of Mike’s neck, he continued, “By the way, we’re going to be really gross tomorrow, and it’s your fault but uh, too tired to move. That’s your fault too.”

“Something like that,” Mike mumbled in agreement. It was both funny and heartwarming to hear him say those things and to feel him relax, so thoroughly disheveled and calm. “Goodnight Martin.”

“Night Mike.” Martin inhaled the crisp scent of a passing storm and when he finally dozed off, it was to the steady sound of Mike’s heartbeat.

 

\--

 

_ ‘Almost there’ _

Arrivals was crowded. People milled, seemingly aimless, walking back and forth, their sheer volume causing anticipation and anxiety to bubble in the pit of Martin’s stomach. It hadn’t and would never have been his idea to fly separately, but even Mike couldn’t get past the fact they had booked separate return flights and that fixing the problem would cost more time and money than either had to spare. 

It was a human world, after all. They had changed, everything else had stayed the same.

Martin gripped his hands against his chest to keep them from shaking. They would be here soon and though it’d been barely four weeks apart, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold himself back from a stupid display of public affection.

Mr. Matcha was flying all the way back with Mike as an ‘owner’, and that alone was a miracle Martin was still praying to whatever Entities for. Even if it technically meant he now owed Elias’ acquaintance a low-key favour, it was a small price to pay to see his boyfriend and his friend safely home.

Actually convincing Mike and Mr. Matcha to fly together had been… more difficult. Remembering the conversation still sent him into a fit of giggles, and when he’d tried to tell Jon about it, he’d half shrugged that it made no sense and wandered off to find Elias. At least Tim and Danny had been amused by it and Martin knew they were not polite enough to lie to his face.

When the gates opened and even more people flooded into the very large station, noisily dragging suitcases and chatting animatedly, Martin hung back. His phone burned in his pocket. Several large screens adorned the walls, noting every arrival, every delay. Martin glanced up at the nearest one and sighed for what felt like the umpteenth time that morning. Sure, Mike’s flight had safely landed almost half an hour earlier, but whether or not the Beholding’s influence was enough to get him through customs with a live animal  _ quickly _ , well, that remained to be seen.

It wasn’t until almost an hour later that he decided that, yeah no, being swift was definitely not among the entities’ repertoire of powers. As if in response to that, his mind provided him with a voice that sounded absurdly like Elias’, speaking of things like  _ bureaucracy _ and  _ patience _ as if Martin hadn’t already known that.

He did.

And as hours turned to days and the days to weeks, it was just long enough that the intrusive threads of paranoia and fear unspooled in him, tainting some of his memories and ruining others.

Martin only noticed he’d been biting the inside of his cheeks when that familiar yet faint smell of wet grass, chlorine and rain hit him. Lights blinked at the edge of his vision and he exhaled shakily, heart thundering in his chest, and scanned the moving crowds. Through the sea of people it was hard to see Mike, at first. Too short, too unremarkable save for his eyes, wrapped in clothes that covered every inch of visible skin and might’ve been too warm for a balmy Autumn morning.

So when a cool hand slid around his wrist and a body bumped into him from behind, Martin almost jumped. 

“Sorry uh, too jittery, just had another coffee because of the wait and I didn’t know if you’d seen me.” He turned, immediately reaching to wrap one arm over Mike’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “You should’ve said something!”

Outwardly, there was nothing wrong with them, just two travellers meeting in the likeliest place. “If I had, I would’ve missed your reaction. And they did just let me go through.”

“Was it bad?” 

Mike shook his head, and smiled. “I’ve had worse. Although this isn’t usually my preferred form of flying. It does take so much longer.”

“You were the one who suggested it, remember?” Martin brushed the top of Mike’s head with his own, inhaling in the dizzying stormy scent. He’d missed this. “I’m glad it went okay.”

“I did and I wouldn’t be able to bring your lizard with me if I’d taken to the sky, anyway,” Mike said. His fingers squeezed Martin’s reassuringly and he pulled on the trolley he’d been dragging behind.

Inside a cage so large Martin wondered how they’d gotten it on board the plane, Mr. Matcha paced, clearly unhappy with being dragged somewhere new and alien. As soon as it noticed Martin, it hissed, mouth gaping open, and it tried to push its head through the bars. 

Martin reached to stroke its green-tinted scales with his free hand. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you, you might get stuck.”   

Beside him, Mike hummed in agreement although Martin wasn’t sure he’d been looking.

They were close enough to the crowd that when Martin finally leaned down and Mike pulled him into a kiss, he felt the stares and opted to ignore them. It was brief and chaste, and so wonderful. 

When they pulled apart, heat glowed on Martin’s cheeks and in Mike’s eyes. “Thank you,” Martin said. “For bringing Mr. Matcha with you and- and for everything else, too.”

“What for?” That strangely apprehensive expression, like a thought had just only sunk in, was back on Mike’s face and Martin felt the urge to kiss it away again.

Instead, he dragged the three of them outside of Arrivals. London awaited, its sky uniformly grey with no hints of sun peeking through the cloud curtain. In the distance, there was the  rumble of a train’s engine; the sound of people talking, laughing, shouting; of life in a bustling city. Martin stared at the scene for a moment.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
